Epíphantos
by Roarri
Summary: AU. The balance of the human and supernatural energies resides in chaos. Sam Manson, having spent her entire life in the midst a losing war, can't help but find herself drawn to anything full of life and happiness. Ironic as it was, surrounded by constant misery, happiness was her salvation. And, perhaps, it would determine the fate of the world she lived in.
1. Wander

**Epíphantos **

**Synopsis:** AU Dystopian Future. In the midst of war, the balance of the human and supernatural energies resides in chaos. Sam Manson, having spent her entire life in the midst a losing war, can't help but find herself drawn to anything full of life, love, and happiness. Ironic as it was, surrounded by those who wallowed in misery, happiness was the only way the Goth could individualize herself by. And, perhaps, determine the fate of the world she lived in.

**Author's Comments: **Hey there. I have no idea where this came from. All I know is I began to write with a single idea, and as I wrote the ideas manifested themselves in ways I'm just beginning to understand. I'm loving the mystery of writing this story, though. I know where I want to end up, but I have no idea how I will get there. Did anyone catch the few allusions I made? If you did, tell me, and you get a cookie! I have no idea if anyone will actually read or even like this story, but it exists to satisfy my muse for the time being. I've seen many stories with the same plot line, but I hope there are enough aspects of this story that read in ways that don't make you feel as if you read this story a million times already. Feel free to help direct this story with me. I'm not much of a writer, so I would love the help, ideas, and insights. Join the ride with me, as I intend to finish this story!

Next chapter will hopefully be a bit longer. Just testing out the waters here. Happy reading!

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter One:**

_**Wander**_

Dawn had barely risen into the ashen sky when Samantha Manson began to make her way along the barrier of the ruined city. Her breath came before her in wisps, the wintry air causing her skin to prickle unsettlingly. Her gaze was constantly shifting about, taking in the dull grey shades of her environment, void of all life aside from herself. Her steps were sheer stealth, hands and feet clad with ectoplasm-protected leathers that enabled her to make her way through the throng of trash and debris unbothered. Even still, her grip on her ectogun was unceasing, as was the rigid control she held over her body. Whilst the morning had yet to offer anything peculiar, Sam refused to allow herself even a moment's respite. All it took was a moment…

Speaking of a moment.

Sam jumped into action; her weapon charged and pointed as a sudden noise from her left offended her senses. Pivoting off her heel, she spun and faced her opposition.

Just in time to witness the utterly terrifying site of an emaciated stray cat vacate a toppled trashcan, the lid spinning in the cat's wake. If not for her current position above ground, Sam would have laughed. Instead, she wiped the sweat from her brow, her nerves shuddering with unused adrenaline, and continued on her way along the familiar path. She was almost to her destination, anyway.

Having grown up in the midst of the war that existed between the humans and the spirits, Sam was well accustomed with the mounting paranoia that continuously invaded her nervous system when she was outside of the Compound, above ground—_In Amity…_ Sam felt herself shudder, and it had nothing to do with the chilly air. Clenching her teeth, she pulled the cloak she wore tighter about herself, clutching it to her heart, and continued down the beaten path.

Since the progression of war in the spirits' favor, not many people dared to venture above ground anymore. The Spirits had pretty much taken control over everything in the material world in the last decade, pushing the tired human race into the last remaining corners of the world, surviving off resources that were dwindling at an exponential rate—a rate that was not being sustained efficiently enough to meet the demands of humans left to demand it.

_Not that there's many left of us, anyway, _Sam though morbidly. Even still, with the small fraction of humans left stranded in their islands of misery, there simply was _not enough. _The humans were running out of time, lives dwindling faster than the hue of the once-blue sky. It wasn't even the spooks alone anymore that were reducing human population. Suddenly natural environmental limiting factors were now the main cause of reduction—starvation, sickness, natural disasters…they were whittling them out, pushing already-breached limits, and Sam was there to watch with a morbid fascination as the final grains of sand settled, one by one, into the hour glass hovering precariously over the human race. This was it. Her generation would be the end…

So Sam intended to live her life to its fullest.

As the winding path before her ended, Sam smiled as she felt her combat boots come into contact with softer ground. No longer cement, but _real _earth. Small patches of grass, of life, existed about her, yellowing slightly but still _alive. _Her heart was thudding excitedly in her chest, which she usually knew to be fear, was actually that of happiness, of adoration. Here, in this small patch of grass, three trees, and a single shrub, Sam felt safe—even if she _was _still exposed to the outside. Somehow, on a sign at the end of her winding path, the one with writing that still read in barely legible lettering, "Amity Park Recreational Park," comforted her. Protected her from her fears.

Fear was her constant companion. She grew up with it, was nurtured by it. Fear was as a part of her society as aggression was to the Spirits. However, Sam felt herself to be different. There was always a time for fear, but that was not how she was going to die. Afraid. She, and the few others she knew to be somewhat like her, would go down fighting in a way that could not ever be trounced. They would go down having _lived, _having experienced life as they could. So, deathly alone in a world ravaged by spirits that could take notice of her at any moment, Sam threw back her head, raised her hands in the air, and—

She laughed.

She did what not many did these days. She smiled, she laughed, she differentiated herself from the crowd. She would not let them win, the Spirits. They would not beat _her. _She was one of the last members of the Resistance still willing to fight, to represent her race, even if it was in a matter of spirit. Of essence. Many called the Resistance futile. The Warriors, the Inventors, the Leaders, the Walkers—the final battle had been lost two years ago, they were told to disband, and many members _did _leave. But Sam wouldn't. She couldn't. She would continue to fight with her kin, even if there was nothing left to fight for. She would continue to live, because there was _always _something to live for.

Laughter subsiding, Sam shuffled about the small perimeter of the park, cleaning up garbage, dusting off rickety old benches. She smiled and cradled her hands around a tiny sapling that was just beginning to make its accent above ground. Her violet eyes appraised it, and then she followed its leafy gaze towards the sky, searching desperately for sustenance. The sky was its usual green-tinted grey, slightly hazy, as the sun filtered through the film of ectoplasm that existed in the earth's atmosphere.

Sam felt her smile begin to edge downwards at the corners, before looking down pitifully at the sapling. "Hope you can make it, little guy," she said. The night was going to frost, she knew. Yesterday had been warm, she knew. The sapling would not survive. She knew.

Releasing a sigh that dissipated before her in small, wispy rivulets, Sam turned away her gaze away as she took stock of her surroundings. She didn't come here often, and only momentarily did she let her guard drop. Whilst living was her main objective, Sam also intended to _stay _alive as well. She quickly drew her ectogun and balanced it between her two hands, cocked and ready, before moving slowly back towards the winding path.

She had been gone from the Compound too long. It would not be long before her absence from headquarters was noticed. Her family would worry.

Sam's steel-toed boots hardly made a sound as she crept back towards the Compound. The walk was not far. Not to mention Spirits rarely entered this part of the city anymore anyway, located at the heart of Amity. She liked to think it was because they were intimidated by the sheer strength that was the Resistance, but, proud as she was, she knew that was not the case. For some reason, the spooks avoided this area of the city like it was the plague—or, rather, the ghostly equivalent. For whatever reason, they did not enter, and Sam was beginning to wonder if that was a actually a good thing, or if it was foreboding something much worse. Every time she came above ground, she could never shake the irrational fear that an ominous entity was around her, watching her.

Crazy as she knew it was, she could literally feel the threads of her life fluttering in the breeze about her—hence why she never dropped her guard as she traveled. The hypersensitive ectosensors at her wrist never picked up on said entity, however, which caused Sam to believe her fears to be irrational. Many hours spent with an avid psychological Thinker had taught her all about her fears, and how to identify them. The physical evidence attested to a lack of spectral entities, though her fear still manifested itself into a force strong enough to cause her spine to turn to ice, to maintain her rigidity. Her thumb lightly traced the trigger of her ectogun.

Sam stopped to calm herself, breathing deeply, before she pressed on, farther into the heart of the city. Of Amity. The historically acclaimed ghost capital of the material world. One that ironically lacked the ghosts that were supposed to plague it.

Shuddering, but now smiling, she quickly slipped into one of the houses that lined the street she was on. Once there, she began the process of entering the Compound, hanging the wrist that adorned her verification bracelet over one of the many sensors, tapping her foot impatiently as it processed her information. The trap door below her suddenly came to life, and she followed a set of stairs into a plain white room. There, she pulled down her glove, rolled up the cuff of her jacket, and hovered her tattoo over the last remaining sensor that determined her ability to access the facility. A door opened, allowing Sam to enter an elevator that pulled her deeper and deeper into the ground below her, dragging her into the fathomless world of misery and loathing, of regret and loss, of the last remaining form of human congregation and resistance.

Sam pulled her ectogun to her chest, and stared upwards, envisioning a sky that was tinged with blue instead of green.

Had she still been above ground, she would have seen a flash of light that would have superficially blinded her, and then her ectosensors would have spiked, signifying immense power from an ectoentity in terrifying proximity.

* * *

"_Epíphantos" is Greek for "in the light; alive." It seemed fitting to me upon the conclusion of this chapter. _


	2. Complacency

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Two:**

_**Complacency**_

Days came and went within the confines of the Compound. Located under the graveyard of Amity Park, it allowed its crumpled inhabitants to a means of survival and protection. Hundreds of feet below the ground, and reinforced with sturdy, industrial steel walls, the compound was the epitome security. Years ago, the Inventors came into an alliance and fabricated thousands of sensors through the Compound's walls, ones that emitted ectoplasmic-repelling sound waves, running at a frequency undetectable to the humans. The fortress was impenetrable to the spirits, and was the last form of existing hope to those that remained of the human race.

Sam despised it.

To her, the Compound was a suppressant. A means of rehabilitation, yes, but she knew that complacency ran deep within her kin. They would not see the walls as suffocating whilst living under the cold, hard arms of security, and the liberation that existed beyond it would become nonexistent. An outside world would cease to exist, and the Resistance would wither away into the cowardly husk of humanity they'd been posing as since their defeat two years prior. They were giving up. They were surrendering to the enemy.

The thought brought Sam up short. She would never surrender, she knew. Yesterday, when she ventured above ground and witnessed the tiny growth of a sapling—struggling to survive when it could not but _persevering anyway_—had solidified her resolve. Her head spinning, she began to glare at the walls that surrounded her, mocking her of her cowardice, and spun heatedly to her companion, glaring at him as well.

Shrinking under her sudden ferocity, a dark skinned man pushed a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose, eyes widening in alarm. "You okay there, Sam?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"No, Tucker, I'm not _'okay,'_" Sam shot back, using her fingers to accentuate the last word in air quotes. "Why are we continuing to _live _like this?"

She watched his eyes dart sideways, jaw hanging as the surprise etched itself further into the planes of his face. The fork he had been holding lay forgotten on his plate of animal remains. He sputtered, but the confusion overrode his ability to form words. Finally, he said, "Where did _that _come from?" He looked across the table to her forgotten salad, unsure of the reason for her anger. "Was there something wrong with your salad, Sam? No need to start a rebellion over it. Jeez."

"I'm not upset about the stupid salad!" she snapped. Huffing, she dropped back into her seat, grabbed her fork, and began stabbing ferociously into her salad.

Tucker merely watched in amazement.

Annoyed by his unceasing gaze, her violet eyes met his. "What?"

"Sam, seriously, what's up with you? First you space out all through lunch, then you throw a random fit out of nowhere, and now you're taking out your anger on a salad. Also, I'mpretty sure that's veggie homicide in the first degree."

Sam rolled her eyes and sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

He raised a brow. "Try me."

"Okay. Fine." She tapped the end of her fork on the table as she contemplated the best way to breach the subject of her anger. Finally, looking back up into his gaze, she said, "My problem is"—she gestured about the cafeteria—"this."

"What, the décor?"

"No, you idiot!" She stood again, leaning over the table as she was suddenly overcome by her temper. She pointed her fork into his face. "I hate this place. I hate the way that that we just mope around. We're barely surviving and we're most certainly _not _living! I want to be outside! To be free! I don't want to be suppressed by this place any longer! Everyone just assumes we lost this _fucking _war but we haven't!" Her voice rose in its pitch. "We haven't! What happened to our fighting spirit? Why do we still call ourselves the 'Resistance' if we don't resist!"

Tucker shrugged and smiled wryly. "Maybe because now we're resisting death instead?"

"Tucker!"

Finally, Tucker sighed, eyes softening. He placed his hand softly on the hand that held her fork, lowered it, and calmly met her eye. His brows fell heavily over his eyes as he seriously contemplated her words. "It's only been two years, Sam. Since the big defeat. I know you think it was only a single battle, and it _was_, but it was a huge blow to the Resistance _and _the humans. We lost Amity, Sam." He shook his head. "And we lost a lot of lives, too," he added as a sad afterthought.

Tucker Foley was many things. He wore a goofy red beret, was an Inventor's apprentice, and had a knack for the technological. He was rarely serious, but when he was people listened to him. He had good ideas with enough insight to back them up, and was rarely incorrect in his careful assumptions. He had once been tentatively considered for a leadership apprenticeship, but it was obvious where his passions really were.

His seriousness was enough to ground her, pull her from the unforgiving reach of her temper, and she once again fell back into her seat. Almost helplessly, she asked him, "What are we supposed to do?"

"Sam," he said, "the best thing any of us can do right now is to recuperate and begin planning for our long term survival. I know you think we're giving up, but the ghosts are just too strong for us right now. There are not enough of us to wage war. If we do, it will be suicide. And at this rate there won't be anyone left for us to even exist in memory as martyrs. We need to step back, breathe, and calculate our next move…even if it won't be for a while."

Sam pondered this. He was right. As much as she hated the claustrophobia the Compound instilled within her, she knew there was not much else she could do. There was no one left to fight. The spooks were ravaging the world above them, pushing them off their turf and into the deepest recesses of their universe, and there was _nothing _they could do about it. Everyday children died, families were separated, and their race dwindled in its numbers. Flickering like candlelight.

She bit her lip. "Tuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump on you like that. This place just makes me so stir crazy. I miss the sun."

"I understand," Tucker said, smiling softly. Then, he winked. "Want some green eggs and ham since you miss that green sun of yours so much?"

For the first time that day Sam laughed. "Nice try, carnivore."

They laughed together until their laughter was interrupted by a shrill bell that rang throughout the cafeteria. Almost in complete unison, the cafeteria's inhabits stood together, deposited their trays into the trash bins aligning the perimeter of the room, and filed out the doors intent on their destinations. Sam and Tucker followed their peers to the door, but when it came time for the pair to split paths Sam spun quickly and caught Tucker's shoulder, holding him steady.

"Thank you," she said earnestly.

"No problem," he replied. "Meet you in the arcade later?"

"You bet," Sam laughed.

The two parted ways as Sam began the long walk through the Compound to her apprenticeship. Until age sixteen, the residents of the Compound were required to take mandatory baseline classes to fulfill education requirements in their adolescence. From there, they could choose to continue their education and work within the compound to support society, usually as educators, farmers, below-ground law enforcement, maintenance crew, among other positions. They could also choose to skip further education and merely go straight to work in positions such as cleaners or food service. Finally, there were the select few that were chosen to partake in apprenticeships.

Sam and Tucker were among the group chosen for apprenticeships in their year. Tucker was an Inventor, and Sam a Warrior. They had been in their respective apprenticeships for three years now. Both of them had been participants in the great loss two years ago. Tucker was indirectly related, having been responsible for the development of ectoplasmic weaponry and protection whilst under apprenticeship in his unit (Sam was proud to say that the weapon she carried had been designed solely for her, and was a _Tucker Foley_ _edition_ model.) Sam had been directly on the warfront that day, despite the disdain it caused her mentor. It stood bright and flashing in her memory. And it haunted her.

The ghostly form of the King of Ghosts slipped momentarily before her from her memory and she instantly recoiled, shaking her head, bringing her arm over her eyes as she walked. She took a breath to calm herself. Pariah Dark, the scourge of the Resistance. The bane of her existence. The inhibitor of her freedom. It was Dark and his army that started the war almost fifteen years ago. She had been there the day he stole Amity Park from them, forced them to their knees—and murdered nearly half of them.

Sam shuddered. Fortunately she was able to allow herself a respite from her thoughts as she entered the training facility. The familiar bright lighting invaded her senses as she stepped into the training room, surrounded by various forms of exercise equipment designed specifically for the Warriors.

Her mentor was waiting for her, wrist out, observing his watch and scrutinizing her punctuality. His face was grim.

"Good afternoon, Mentor," she said, bowing her head in respect.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Samantha," Vlad Masters said. "On time as usual, how grand."

Sam grit her teeth and forced herself to smile.

* * *

_Oh snap. Even I didn't see that last bit coming! It was a spur of a moment decision. I really like all the plot devices I can gather from this though. Already scheming! Haha! Any thoughts on where I should take certain aspects of this story? Any requests? Anything you might like to see or would interest you? Remember, you guys are helping me write this. I need the ideas! I have no real outline and post this as I write it. I will definitely do my best to explain better how the apprenticeships work within the Compound. This is so much fun! Also, Danny should be showing up soon. The thing I hate most when I read stories is how rushed they are to get to a certain point. I'm trying to pace myself._

_Also, I hope my writing is okay. I'm trying not to bee so choppy and drawn out as I've been lately. It's been years since I've done any creative writing so I'm trying really hard to get back where I was. Feel free to give me suggestions on my writing style as well! I would really appreciate it!_

_Thanks for reading!_

_-Roar_


	3. Troubling

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Three:**

_**Troubling **_

Not much was known about Vlad Masters. He was rather new to the Compound, and had only recently been enlisted as a member of the Resistance, rising to the ranks as a Warrior Leader in a matter of months. He was cold, reserved, and extremely aggressive out in the field. The manner in which he conducted the goings of his life revolved around strict efficiency, reserving no time for attachment. He did not mingle with the other Resistance members, preferring to keep himself at a distance, observing them all with a look as rigid as his posture. It was because of him that there were survivors from the great failure of two years prior, and many revered the ground Masters walked upon, claiming him as their savior.

Which is exactly why Sam didn't trust him.

She met his gaze that afternoon as she always did with a cold smile to match the one he sent her. As was their custom. They tolerated each other, at best; though Sam was the only one she knew who did not falter under his scrutiny. Whilst many idolized Masters, Sam saw through his façade of rigidity and aloof regality. The way in which he carried himself spoke volumes in terms of his character: egotistical, prideful, tense—all hinting of a man concealed beneath whom wielded a vault of ulterior motives. Sam could almost taste the deceit on him.

"Shall we begin, my dear?" he said.

She set her jaw and nodded, following as he led her through the training facility and into a room at the back that was much smaller in comparison. The walls and floors where white, and its furniture sparse, merely consisting of a rickety desk and chair set, and nothing more. Masters' lectures did not utilize visual aids or physical material of any kind, as he preferred to keep everything verbal. Sam was not permitted the luxury of note taking, and she supposed the only reason for the desk being an attempt of a power play on his part. By subjecting herself to her seat, she was forced into a vulnerable position, having to look up to meet his steely gaze. Which she met with a glare. She just loved pissing him off.

"Today you will begin by placing yourself in a hypothetical situation, Samantha" he began, pacing the room with his hands behind his back. "Imagine your closest comrades dead, their dismembered bodies surrounding you. Blood is everywhere, pooling over your boots. You wield no ectogun, and your only protection is your suit. Before you is a spectral entity, ready to deliver your death blow." She couldn't help the chill that ran up the length of her spine at the smile that accented his words. He paused before her, hands slipping to his hips, and cocked an eyebrow at her in challenge. "What do you do?"

Sam considered the situation briefly, calculating her odds in a variety of scenarios. She cleared her throat and confidently said, "Well, judging by the parameters I've already had time to assess my environment and have an existing knowledge of my pursuer, no matter how slight. If my ecotogun is gone, I am most likely injured, so I will refrain from too much movement, conserving what energy I can. I will face my opponent at all times, noting the effect its presence has on my body should it decide to opt for invisibility or intangibility. I would assume that it is injured as well and will target these injuries as a weakness. I will not let the bodies of my comrades distract me."

"How do you destroy it?"

"Easy." Sam smiled menacingly. "I go for its core and rip it from its filthy body."

"What if its core is not exposed?"

"Oh believe me. By the time _I'm _done with it, it _will _be."

Masters smirked and sauntered back towards the middle of the room. He made no comment regarding his evaluation of the young woman before him, opting instead to reclaim his air of superiority. He chuckled to himself and said to her, "Little girl, while I commend your attitude may I remind you that not every ghost is as they seem." And with that he continued with his infuriating strut until he was out the door, leaving Sam to slam her clenched fist against her desk and grind her teeth in anger.

She rose from her seat and followed his path out the door, her muscles tensed in preparation with the physical portion of her training. Despite no comment in regards to her strategy lesson, she knew from his reaction that the rest of her training today would be exceptionally grueling.

Today she faced Masters' golden pupil, Valerie Grey, and Sam poised herself ready for their sparring session. Valerie was in many ways just as ruthless as their mentor. She was beautiful, with long raven hair that fell in wavy ringlets about her oval face, and her body was toned and powerful. The red jumpsuit she always adorned complimented the darkness of her skin, adding a sense of danger to her ruthlessness. She was a year older than Sam, and was in the final year of her apprenticeship with Masters. Sam equally despised her.

Though she admired Valerie in many ways, Sam detested the loyalty Valerie withheld for Masters and Masters alone. Valerie was dangerous. As righteous as she was, Valerie was easily manipulated due to her narrow ideals, and wouldn't hesitate an order opting to shoot first and ask questions later. Sam had witnessed Valerie in the field—she rarely missed her target. Also, coinciding with the adoration Masters withheld for Valerie didn't help Sam's opinion much.

Valerie snarled standing before her, poised on her toes and ready for a charge. Like a cat ready to pounce on her prey. "You ready to get your butt whooped, Manson?"

Sam widened her stance, knowing that Valerie would attack first. "In your dreams."

When Valerie charged Sam met her attack with a ferocity that brought a smirk to their mentor's face. He watched them with his calculating look, stroking his hand over the long whiteness of his ponytail.

When the girls had reached a stalemate in their match, both hunched over, panting, and sweating profusely, did their mentor finally speak.

"Job well done, especially _you _my dear," he said in Valerie's direction. To Sam, he said, "Unfortunately Samantha, I feel as if your defense is a bit too loose and your attack a bit too soft. You did well, I suppose, if you were in battle with an infant."

Valerie sent Sam a triumphant look before bowing her head. "Thank you for your praise, sir."

Masters smiled coldly at her. "You've earned it, dear. If _only _Samantha was as fiercely loyal as you, maybe then she could overcome her…weaknesses…" And with that he disappeared out into the corridor. "Go home, children, I have some things to attend to."

Hatred swam within Sam, boiling to the surface when she met Valerie's smug gaze. The two stood before each other, each sizing the other up. Suddenly, Valerie spun off her heel whilst throwing her raven locks over her shoulder as she did. "You heard him, Manson, go home." She paused, looking over her shoulder under lowered brows. "And if I were you, I would _stay _there."

Only after Valerie disappeared into the depths of the Compound did Sam finally let out a strangled scream of frustration, throwing a punch into the wall as she did so. Blood streamed thickly down her knuckles, but the girl didn't care. Her fury was unbound, angry tears brimming at her eyes. She stormed out into the corridor, ignoring the looks that she garnered from those she passed. Seething, she stomped her way to the apartment she shared with her mother and father, throwing the door open with an audible _crack. _

She hated him, her mentor. Her previous mentor, Ms. Teslaff, had been everything to her that Vlad wasn't. Though she had been anything but warm, the burly woman had taught Sam everything she knew about being a warrior, a leader, a member of their Resistance. _She _was the reason that Sam persevered to continue her training, though she felt as if Vlad was continuously setting her up for failure. His constant belittling of her and her abilities had done nothing but strengthen her resolve to overcome the obstacles she faced. Teslaff had taught her to do that—to overcome her opposition.

As she charged into her room, Sam drew a fist angrily over her cheek, wiping away the evidence of her misfortune. She removed her training jumpsuit, opting for more comfortable attire. Pulling on a black loosing-fitting shirt and matching pants, the girl finally felt herself beginning to calm. The turning, tumultuous waves of anger began dissipating into a calmer sea, ceasing her tears and returning her rationality. She sighed, falling heavily onto the foot of her mattress. She looked about her room, taking in the blackness of her décor, before allowing her eyes to rest on a framed picture of her and her former mentor. The one Sam had avoided like the plague. It was the one of her and Teslaff at Sam's graduation, when she had been accepted as a Warrior Leader's apprentice.

She missed this woman. After her mysterious death nearly a year ago, Sam had barely given herself a chance to think about the woman she had come to see as a second mother. Instead, she threw herself into her training and her studies with a vengeance. At least as far as Masters allowed her to. But, right now, she found herself staring dejectedly at the frame, wishing desperately that it was the woman in the photograph leading her apprenticeship, instead of the reclusive Vlad Masters.

Her hands bunched up into fists as her anger resurfaced slightly. _No, _she said to herself, _I'm letting him get to me. Teslaff wouldn't have wanted that._ In fact, Sam's previous mentor would have been furious. _"Suck it up, girl," _she would have said. _"Hold that dainty chin of yours high and give that pretentious bastard hell. Figure out the game he's playing and destroy him. Haven't I taught you anything?"_

Sam suddenly smiled.

She stood, brushed herself off, squared her shoulders, and walked back out into the Compound with her chin held high.

XXXX

Sam found Tucker where she always did after his apprenticeship. The pair had grown quite a fondness for Tucker's mentors, the wife and husband Inventor duo, geniuses Jack and Madeline Fenton. She found the three of them huddled around an examining table in the "Fentonworks" lab, which featured expertise in both ghost physiology and weapons development.

Smiling when she saw them, Sam paused to rap her knuckles over the open door, signaling her arrival into the lab. The three before her raised their heads in unison, startled expressions morphing into a much warmer and welcoming set of smiles.

"Welcome! Come on in dear," Maddie Fenton exclaimed, running to Sam before crushing the girl in a hug. "It's been over a week since we last saw you. My, you look so frail, have you been eating okay?"

Sam laughed, pulling away from the older woman and patting her upper arm reassuringly. "Yes, Mrs. Fenton, I'm fine." She looked over Maddie's shoulder curiously. "What are you guys so interested in over there?"

Maddie's smile only grew wider, obviously enthused that girl was showing an interest in their work. "Why don't you come and see, dear!"

"Yeah, Sam!" Jack Fenton boomed, orange clad arms waving in the air ostentatiously, "You'll _love _this!"

Sam smiled at them, warmed by their welcoming nature. Jack and Maddie were two of the most endearing people she had ever met. Both were eccentric, always bumbling around in their perpetually worn hazmatt suits, and their personalities were just as outrageous.

Jack, a large man clad in orange, was an ostentatious ghost hunting fanatic, who thereby expressed his enthusiasm in the form of ectoweaponry and development. Standing before her now and holding a colorful array of wires and other odd technological assortments, the older man regarded Sam with one of his biggest smiles.

Maddie resumed her position next to Jack, her head leveled at his shoulder. She met Sam's eyes and smiled, though it was much softer than that of her husband's. She wore a jumpsuit like Jack's, though hers was a much less vibrant blue in comparison to his gaudy orange. Her field of study was spectral physiology, and it was this woman's studies that had led the survival of the Resistance for the past fifteen years.

Maddie raised her hand and beckoned Sam closer to their workstation. "Well come on, dear," she said. "Don't you want to see what we've been up to all day?"

Sam stepped forward close enough to see the object of their focus. What greeted her was an oddly shaped pair of goggles complete with flashing lights and lots of protruding wires. She found her brow furrowing in confusion at the odd contraption before her. "What is it?"

Tucker sprang into the conversation after an odd period of silence on his part. "They're ghost goggles!"

"Ghost…goggles?"

"_Fenton _Ghost Goggles!" Jack corrected zealously. "Give her the mumbo jumbo talk, Maddie!"

Maddie laughed. "They're specifically designed to detect a ghost's ectosignature by calculating the frequencies given off by their core. It has some ways to go yet, but our hope is to eventually override a ghost's invisibility. These little receptors at each end," she purposefully fingered the little red blinking lights, "will, upon command, emit electrical signals directly into a spectral core and override their environmental evasiveness abilities, literally rendering them tangible. At least while within range of the receptors."

"And that way we can finally rip all those damned _spooks _apart molecule by molecule!" Jack exclaimed, making a show of punching the air in mock aggression.

Sam found herself staring at them in wonder. The ability to render a ghost _both _visible and tangible upon command was unfathomable. It would change the way the Warriors operated, leveling the playing field in the humans' advantage. Her head was suddenly spinning.

Jack and Maddie were undeniable geniuses. Though they operated in separate fields of study, they often crossed paths to create amazing forms of tracking and hunting equipment as well. Jack's love of weaponry paired with Maddie's knowledge of physiology was unbeatable. It was no wonder why they were the leading Inventors in their respective fields, each making revolutionary strides in their work. Sam found them to be utterly amazing. After the deaths of their youngest children, five-year-old twins Daniel and Danielle Fenton due to the war, the duo had dedicated themselves to the destruction of the ghostly species that had invaded the material world.

Despite the gray at his dark temples and the lines of sadness etched within his face, Jack Fenton remained optimistic. After the loss of her children, Maddie had thrown herself first into the raising of her eldest daughter, Jazz, and then into the goings of her famed studies—and yet, she too shared a demeanor similar to that of her husband's. Hand in hand, they opened their hearts to Sam and Tucker, offering an apprenticeship for Tucker and an understanding ear for Sam.

Maddie stepped forward, placing the goggles in Sam's hands. "Here, hon," she said, smiling. "We always give you the first of our prototypes and this time is no different."

"Thank you," Sam said, slightly awestruck.

"You're welcome! Let us know how they work!" Jack said loudly.

Maddie's smile faltered slightly. "Alright, it's getting late. You two better go out and have fun." She was suddenly ushering Sam and Tucker towards the door, but before Sam could pull away completely, Maddie's hands gripped Sam's elbow tightly, pulling the girl back so her mouth was at her ear.

"Now Sam," she said hurriedly. "It's no secret where you go when you need a breath of air. Heavens knows I'm jealous of you for that, but I want you to be careful. If these work, _please _don't go looking for trouble." She pulled away, met Sam's incredulous gaze with worried eyes, before disappearing back into the lab.

Tucker was before her instantly, grabbing her arm and practically dragging her towards the arcade in enthusiasm.

XXXX

The night found Sam restless. She had spent the majority of the evening in virtual conquest with Tucker, but alone at her home left her to the depths of her imagination. She found her limbs twitching as she paced the confines of her small room. Her world felt too small and the urge to relieve herself of it became strong. She needed air. She needed light. She needed freedom from the artificial hell she lived in.

So, in the cover of night, Sam did the stupidest thing she had ever done. She grabbed her gun, her new goggles, and made her away across the Compound.

The briefest of thoughts flashed within Sam's mind in relation to Maddie's warning—the one about looking for trouble. But Sam, already standing within the confines of the elevator and pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her tattooed wrist, couldn't help but think that trouble had already found its way into finding her first.

Once the doors opened, Sam slipped the goggles over her head—

And proceeded to make her way out of the abandoned house.

* * *

_Well this chapter is certainly longer in comparison to the others. Hope I did okay. Kind of rushed to get it out at the end because I'm already late for work, but I will edit anything that needs changing tonight. I think I _may _have to make a sort of outline after all; I think my pacing is getting a little bit iffy. Oh well. So, who do you guys think will happen next? Even I don't know yet! haha_

_-Roar_


	4. Spontaneity

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Four:**

_**Spontaneity**_

Not many people were able to understand the intricate tapestry that was Sam Manson's mind. The weaving was done in a way to conceal even the most miniscule of secret fibers, woven deep into the heart of the threads. Sure, people respected her, _feared _her even, but not many people could claim to understand her. They didn't understand the way she carried herself—why was she so self-righteous, they would ask. They didn't understand that the darkness of her clothing was in contribution to the everlasting mourning of her kin, rather than the gothic front she displayed in her defenses.

The truth of the matter was that even Sam Manson troubled to understand herself. Especially in regards to her actions.

Perhaps it had to do with the rush of adrenaline surging through her system as she ran amongst the ruins of Amity Park. Her freezing breath was before her, wavering before her in icy tendrils that licked her cheeks. The tips of her fingers were numb in her fingerless gloves as she gripped her ectogun, poised and ready for the first sign of trouble. She couldn't understand the hysterical laugh that was bubbling at the back of her throat, forcing its way to freedom.

She should be terrified. But the emotion filtering through her body, dictating the actions of her nervous system and bringing goose bumps to her skin was anything but fear…

It was elation.

Sam shuddered in realization, but couldn't contain the smile that pulled the entirety of her face taut, exposing teeth that glinted in the dwindling sunlight. She lived for freedom, to walk the line of danger that caused her to balance precariously at the threshold of life and death. She lived to waste the ecto-spooks that invaded her world, destroying them and dancing on the dripping ectoplasmic waste of their remains. She adored the morbidity of it, the thrilling rush of ecstasy that pulled her away from the horrendous world of order and safety she was forced into.

She was an unhindered fire as she tore through the city that night.

She sprinted through her winding path, blazing through her park, where she jumped onto a bench and pulled the goggles down over her eyes. Waiting, waiting, waiting. With bated breath and a heart that continuously leapt into her throat. They did not obstruct her normal viewing, merely adding the slightest hint of green that barely differentiated itself from the greenness of the sky. She brought her ectogun before her, holding it at ready with her finger brushing over the trigger.

And she waited.

In all the times that she had ventured from the underground sanctuary of hell she knew as the Compound, Sam had yet to come into contact with a spectral entity of any kind. Sure, when she went on excursions with the rest of her Warrior kin they'd met—and destroyed—many. But here, nothing. The silence permeated the air, dripping with sarcasm as she stood exposed in the wavering sunset. The city was completely still.

It was unsettling.

Two years ago Pariah Dark had taken Amity from them. He had broken through their shields and commenced war amongst the Resistance. Sam's goggled eyes suddenly began taking in the scenery before her, evaluating the rubble and damage that was a direct result of that failed attempt two years ago. The once prospering city now lay in ruins. Corpses littered the streets and toppled buildings, rotting and stinking. And to what purpose? Sam found herself biting her lip in anger.

The battle of the spirits and the Resistance had taken place, and the humans had lost. That much she knew. But what was strange was that a few weeks after the defeat, the spooks retreated. Disappearing completely from the heart of the city and only appearing at the borders. Were they trying to lull the humans into a false sense of security, to draw them out of their impenetrable hole in the ground and destroy them completely? Sam didn't know.

Sighing, she stepped down from the bench she was standing on. The furious beating of her heart settled into a calmer rhythm, allowing her rationality to begin to sync itself with her reason. She looked around once more before she dropped her ectogun from its cocked position. Her ectosensors remained blank, aside from the small twitch of the needle that reacted to the amount of ectoplasm saturating the environment.

Everything was empty. Void of all life and afterlife.

Slightly disappointed, Sam turned back towards the winding path intent on returning to the Compound. She had only just begun to pull the goggles off her eyes when she saw it.

There it was! Her heart was slamming in her chest. Suddenly a bright green light invaded her vision as the goggles detected a spectral aura and began the process of rendering it into existence.

There were not many ghosts withholding the capability to disappear completely from the physical world, but were still able to maintain their consciousness. Typically, invisibility and intangibility were nullified by the hypersensitive ectosensors all Resistance members had on watch-like apparatuses on their wrists. However, there were also ghosts powerful enough to utilize these abilities at a caliber that literally caused them to disappear entirely. _They _were the ghosts that were to be avoided at all costs.

And Sam had run right into one.

She watched in wonder as the green light latched on to the entity, dragging its form into existence. To her horror, the moment the ghost entered reality, her sensors spiked tremendously, the little arrow swinging from the green zone and into the high red. The readings were off charts, thus causing a shrill beeping noise to begin to escape from the face of her sensor in a vain attempt to warn her of the danger before her.

Sam scuttled backwards, tripping over her own feet and falling unceremoniously onto her bottom. Releasing a small cry of fear, she quickly cocked her ectogun into position, suddenly wishing she had brought more to protect herself with.

As the light began to dim a familiar chill crept its away up her spine, one that signified the presence of a spirit, and the already chilly air dropped into a temperature that had Sam shivering violently. She clumsily pulled herself to her feet in an attempt to face her opposition. Lowering her brows she pulled the most intimidating scowl she could muster.

Only to be met with an expression that almost had her running in fear.

Eyes the color of pure, untainted ectoplasm entered her vision, glowing furiously in the permeating darkness of night. A tumultuous wave of shock white hair hung before its eyes and over a humanoid face of unbridled rage. The ethereal glow surrounding it almost had Sam squinting in its sudden brightness. This ghost was not to be trifled with. She could literally _feel _the power emanating off of it in a manner that rivaled the horrendous Fright Knight, Pariah Dark's main adversary. Maybe even Dark himself.

The ghost's terrifying neon gaze met her own. It snarled.

Through her petrified haze, through the hectic beating of a heart that leapt into her throat and chocked her, Sam did the only thing she could do.

She pulled the trigger.

* * *

_Yeah, yeah I know. Another short chapter. But for a good reason. This chapter preludes a longer one that will be posted shortly. Either tomorrow or Monday. I just thought this would be a good stopping point for this one. I like to end my chapters on cliff hangers and felt as if this one was particularly evil, haha. I know some of you have remarked about my chapters being too short, which I totally agree with, but considering how frequently I update (and how quickly this story will be updated again), I felt as if this would be acceptable for now. But don't worry, once I get more into the plot, they _will _be getting longer, I promise. There's just not a whole lot I can write per chapter right now that won't be redundant, if you know what I mean. _

_Anyway, please guys, keep up with the suggestions. Where should this story go; what would you like to see happen? I'm open for nearly any suggestion. I have no idea where I'm going with this right now as I have no definite plot. I would love some points in the right direction from you guys. What would make this story interesting to you? Please tell me. _

_Anyway, thanks so much for reading! I love you guys! Thanks for all the amazing reviews I have gotten from y'all! Keep 'em coming!_

_-Roar_


	5. As Petty as Fear

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Five:**

_**As Petty as Fear**_

It had been a long time since Sam had been this afraid. Terror was clawing its way through her veins, climbing the length of her spine and settling at the roots of her hair. It made her skin prickle, made her heart leap in anticipation. The spook's chilly aura settled heavily over her shoulders, causing her to shiver uncontrollably as she quickly and deftly disengaged the safety on her ectogun. It hastily powered to life and before she knew it, her trigger finger was depressing itself as if on its own accord.

When Sam was young, there had been a time when she feared the concept of fear itself, of the darkness that permeated the night. It was a time for terror, for indecision, for monstrosity. A time when she spent many nights sleeping amongst the warm, comforting glow of her pink nightlight. She had been nurtured by the horrible stories told by her mother and father—the ones that revolved around the war and the terrible battles that were fought between humans and spirits.

They had been above ground then, complacent under a sky that was tinged with green. During the summer, Sam, amongst other children, had played together in their city's park, located at the heart Amity. She could still remember the feeling of dandelions kissing her bare shins as she twirled about the grass. The pink frills of her dress would fan around her and she would imagine herself as one of the flowers, delighted by the warm sunshine.

Night, however, had terrified her. All forms of darkness had brought her running to her mother, lip quivering as tears spilled from her lavender eyes. She would scream that ghosts were chasing her, that they were coming for her soul and intent on eating the eyes from her skull. They would do their best to placate her terror, and she would try to be strong as the sun fell behind the horizon, but it was never enough. Her nights were spent with the constant companion of her night terrors. She would awake riddled with screams and tears and no amount of consolation from her parents would ever be enough to sooth her.

At night the humans congregated together under a Fenton Dome, a ghost protectant shield that seemingly could protect them from any spectral attack, regardless of power level. She could remember dancing under the glow of the shield, eyes wide in wonder as the light illuminated her pale skin. They had all been so happy. So free. At the brink of extinction humans, regardless of sex, age, and ethnicity had all banded together in the wake of the enemy. They served together as brothers and sisters, forming what would soon become the Resistance.

It would be a few years later, when Sam was eight, that Amity first fell under attack. It was the first time she had seen death, destruction. She had been in school at the time when a ghost had somehow breached Amity's perimeter. All hell had broken loose as a spook—soon become known as the Fright Knight—ravaged the South end of their city, massacring thousands of people, obliterating Casper High and Casper elementary. She could remember lying amongst the rubble of her classroom hurt, but miraculously alive, as the corpses of her classmates and teacher surrounded her.

Something had snapped in her then. The severed arm of a classmate had fallen limp onto her abdomen, the warm blood spilling about her, drenching her white shirt and turning it pink. She had thrown up all over herself at the sight. Turning her head she had seen it, the Fright Knight. It had come back to investigate the damage it had caused and revel in the chaos it created. It had laughed. _Laughed. _The laughter had been so sinister, so _dark, _that it had terrified her enough to snap herself out of her stupor and cry.

That was when the ghost had noticed her.

Fright Knight's laughter had ceased immediately. A growl ripped from its throat as it began its approach towards her. Its raised palm was charged with enough ectoplasmic energy to kill her—_obliterate _her instantly.

Sam did not scream. As the enemy approached, her terror replaced itself with an onslaught of adrenaline. The tears on her cheeks ceased completely in their decent, and her lavender eyes had shone bright with sudden rage. She'd bitten her lip as the ghost unleashed its terrifying gaze upon her, growling mercilessly.

And she'd snarled right back.

The ghost had hesitated, surprise evident in a moment of hesitation. It had leaned back, tasting the sudden arrival of new, raw emotions intermingling with her fear and desperation. Perhaps it was beginning to differentiate between them, understand that the liquid fire running through her veins and pumping thick into her heart was no longer a result of fear.

Shuddering under the weight of severed body parts restraining her, she had done her best to raise her head in defiance. She had glared into the eyes of her executioner. Fearing these monsters was a waste of her energy. Fear had become petty. And it was the arrival of these emotions that would prelude to a moment of hesitation long enough to warrant the arrival of her saviors.

The Fentons had come for her then, guns blazing. With a fire fueled by the death of their own children a mere three years prior, they had driven of the terrible spook and pulled her from the decimated remains of the other children. Never had she'd seen them so broken, so merciless. And never had she since.

Since then, she had given up her world of lace and frills, and pink and white. Pink reminded her of blood on her shirt; white was too easily contaminated. She had taken to dressing to all black, in constant mourning of the lives that were lost. Her attitude had darkened and she had thrown herself into physical training, working mercilessly towards a Warrior apprenticeship. She'd separated herself from her parents' ideals and carved for herself a path that allowed her to constantly walk the line of life and death.

And she had loved it.

She'd destroyed countless ghosts since then, ruthless and deadly in her tactic. Reveling in the midst of battle she was coldly efficient, brazen, and unstoppable. Ghosts had begun to fear her, recognize and retreat, and she would chase them. Chase them down and slug her ectogun to their cores—and she would waste them. Ecotoplasm would shine over her armor, thick and heavy. She would smirk, watching as their remains dissipated in a cloud of white energy, fading away from existence.

But all of that had been child's play…

Especially in comparison to the matter she faced at hand…

In all her experiences, her years of training and battles fought combined, _never _had she come across a ghost powerful enough to top her ectosensors. The needle was erratic. Unable to pinpoint a reading from the ectosignature it identified, it instead unleashed a shrill whine, one that increased at a frequency so high that it shattered the face and went dark completely.

In her desperation, she had fired off a shot from her ectogun. It was petty, she knew, watching as a powerful ectoplasmic charge released itself from the barrel of her gun, bright green in the darkening light. With a morbid fascination, she watched as the charge was seemingly ricochet from the ghost's powerful form, tilting away and fizzling into nothingness. The ghost was snarling, with liquid green eyes alight and flaming in uninhibited rage. It was before her instantly, knocking her weapon away from her hands and sending it scuttling across the pavement at her feet.

Its bright green eyes bored into hers, snarls ripping from its throat and chilling her to the bone. It was then the claws of fear began to recede as the situation dawned on her.

This was a ghost.

Same refused to be afraid of ghosts.

She skirted around it as quickly as she could, lunging again for her gun, but the ghost had anticipated this and reacted by grabbing her outstretched arm. It lifted her completely off her feet, dangling her by the arm it held in a firm grasp as she screamed obscenities at it. She swung her feet, attempting to kick it, but it compensated for this by lengthening the span of its reach, tightening its grip on her wrist.

And then everything was silent—save for Sam's rapid breathing and the chaos of her heart.

The ghost regarded her with a gaze that was cold and calculating. Brows furrowed over its terrifying eyes. She met its scrutiny with a scowl; teeth clenched in revulsion, even as it summoned a ball of powerful ectoplasmic energy at its palm and brought it to her throat. She would not back down. She refused to be afraid.

So this is how she was going to die, Sam realized. In the grasp of a powerful ghost, not from battle, but instead because of her masochistic sense of fulfillment. Oddly enough, it didn't bother her. She would die _alive_, in rebellion against both the spirits and the conformity of the Compound. She didn't welcome death itself, but rather the idea of being a martyr of her own ideals.

Which is why, in complete disregard for the outcome of her actions, she suddenly spit in the ghost's face. Challenging it.

The green light of its energy shone bright in the lavender of her eyes. She repelled the urge to close them, refusing to give in to its sadistic satisfaction. The energy began to burn at the sensitive skin of her neck, strengthening at the proximity of its charged palm. Every fiber of her being, every nerve ending was on _fire_. Even the freezing touch of the ghost's hand on her arm was burning her, searing her through her suit. She could feel the invasion of her consciousness as the ghost regarded her, tasted her emotions on its tongue.

"What are you?" it suddenly asked.

Sam sputtered, caught off guard as the burning sensation from her neck disappeared completely. It released her arm and dropped her to her feet. Its gaze was suddenly questioning, staring at her through a fall of shock white hair. If it weren't for the ethereal glow and its eyes, the ghost almost seemed human. It was unsettling.

Free from its grasp, Sam regained her composure and glared back at her assailant. She refused to let her guard down, opting to instead take note of her surroundings without removing her eyes from the specter before her. Her fingers twitched, longing for her ectogun that lay far beyond her reach, well behind the ghost. There was no way she was getting past this monster. Its power was at such a high caliber she doubted her gun would do much damage anyway. Simply put, she was as good as dead.

So, she did the only thing she could do: "Human," she said, finally answering its question in a voice laced with sarcasm. "What, you all brawn and no brain or something?"

The corners of the ghost's mouth turned up into a hint of a smirk. It cocked its head to the side, regarding her with a look that Sam found odd to see a ghost's face. "Are you not afraid of me, _human_?"

"No, I'm too busy overcoming my revulsion and figuring out how to destroy you," she responded, trying her best to sound nonchalant. She braced herself, expecting the ghost give up its toying with her. Instead, she was surprised as the ghost threw back its head and laughed.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

The ghost chuckled again. "You act as if you are not in company with one of the most powerful ghosts in the Ghost Zone. Where others cower in fear, you actually manage to _challenge me,_" it said. "I'm impressed. Though I have to ask, what is it that sent you looking for trouble in the first place? Sam."

Ice was suddenly running through her veins. "How do you know my name?" she asked dangerously.

The ghost smirked. It backed away from her and went to retrieve her weapon. It observed it carefully, seemingly admiring its craftsmanship whilst her blood continued to run cold. "Samantha Manson, Warrior extraordinaire." Its voice was full of faux bravado. It made a show tossing her gun into the air once and catching it, before suddenly throwing it into her direction, which she caught. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the Ghost Zone."

The freezing tendrils of icy fear finally began to lick their way down Sam's spine. Her hands shook as she once again charged and pointed her ectogun at the ghost, though she knew it was futile. There was no stopping this monster. It could do whatever it wanted to her and she was at its mercy. And it _knew _it too. She could see it the curve of its grin, the way it looked at her like she had no escape. The environmentalist side of her persona made her think back to a biological situation in the ancient wild—a predator and its prey. The cat and the mouse.

"Okay," she said. She hoped it didn't hear the tremble in her voice as she attempted to regain her composure. "So you know who I am. Who are you?"

"I am Phantom," the ghost said simply, its eyes watching her carefully as if to gauge her reaction.

Sam's mind went as blank as her face.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

She had always wondered why no ghost's entered this part of Amity. Ghosts were primitive and territorial, often claiming areas from their world or the material world, as well as all the objects and occupants within its limits. A territorial ghost was exceptionally more dangerous than a haunting ghost, possessive and ruthless with their upkeep. They would just as easily maul and destroy their ghostly kin for intrusion as they would a human.

What was worse still, however, was that the ghost whom had decided to take up residence in Amity Park was none other than _Phantom, _a ghost that even Pariah Dark regarded with a sort of grudging respect. This was bad. This was really bad.

Sam tried her best to stifle the chaotic beating of her heart. She released the tension in her arms, letting them fall slack at her sides. Her ectogun powered down with a whine.

The ghost finally sensed her fear and smiled. It began to strut around her with a playful glint to its eerie green eyes. "What? _Now _you're afraid of me?"

"_I am not afraid of you!" _she exclaimed, completely livid. "I would never waste my time being afraid of ectoplasmic _scum _like _you!"_

"Then what are you afraid of, _Sammy_? The fate of your humans buried pathetically beneath our feet?" the ghost challenged.

"Fuck you!" she spat. "You're nothing but a monster!"

The ghost's brows furrowed as if it was truly considering her words. "Quite the contrary, actually," it murmured. "Would it appease you to know I have no intention of harming you or your precious underground sanctuary?"

"And what if you were lying?"

The ghost regarded her challenge silently. It met her fiery gaze with one of its own. The pair stood in the darkness of night, illuminated by the bright glow of the moon. Its eyes were bright and ominous, surreal even as its gaze bored into her so intensely she felt as if she could combust at any moment.

Sam couldn't help but feel as if her heart began beating for a whole new reason entirely.

* * *

_Heyyyyyy there. Terribly sorry about the wait on this chapter. It was completed on time, but technical difficulties have prevented me from uploading. Everything's okay now. Finally! I kind of just had fun with this chapter. Still don't have much of an outline, so any advice on what to do with this story would be greatly appreciated! Please let me know what you guys think! I love hearing from y'all!_

_And now hopefully wan can start moving past the awkward start and get more into the plot. I couldn't help but feel as if Sam reminded me of Valerie. Oh well, once the story gets going Sam should be her old self again, haha. _

_Thanks for readin' and don't forget to leave a review!_

_-Roar_


	6. Word Play

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Six:**

_**Word Play **_

"_And what if you were lying?"_

Sam stood with all her might, holding her ground as she watched as the powerful ghost before her, Phantom, once again considered the question she posed. Green fire danced within its steely gaze, meeting her stare with utmost intensity. The wind caught the edges of the cloak it wore, billowing and revealing the dark fabric of a tunic it sported underneath. It suddenly stuck Sam how closely the ghost's form resembled the anatomical structure of a human male, and she briefly pondered the oddity of it.

The ghost immediately noticed the redirection of her gaze at its torso. A sly smile slipped at the corners of its mouth. "See something you like?"

Her eyes instantaneously snapped higher to meet Phantom's. She was disgusted with herself as the familiar feeling of a blush heated her cheeks, utterly embarrassed to have her actions misinterpreted. Unwilling to play into the ghost's mockery, she snapped, "No, actually, I don't. But _you _are avoiding my question."

Phantom's grin slipped from its face and it sighed heavily. One of its hands was suddenly running through its hair in an odd human gesture. "I'm not lying," it said. "I have no qualms with your humans."

"So you say."

A growl emitted from Phantom's throat, obviously annoyed. "_You _are the one who forced me to show myself." It gestured wildly at the goggles that had fallen to hang loosely around her neck. "I have been here for nearly two years now, and up until this point, you have taken absolutely _no _notice of me. _Sam_." It said her name venomously, its brows falling low over its eyes.

"Which reminds me," it said again, stepping closer to her. "For your entire prowess, your reputation is exceeded by your actions. What is it that causes you to leave the safety of your cozy little human hole in the ground? Why do you retreat to the open, to this park? Why do you challenge the sky? _What is it that you are looking for?"_

Sam's stomach had twisted itself into several uncompromising knots. The ghost was uncomfortably close to her now, looking down at her furiously. Its confusion was evident in the way it regarded her; eyes wide, hands splayed. It was almost completely dark now and Phantom once again summoned energy at its palm, causing an eerie green light to cascade in a shower around her. Shadows were dancing on the planes of its face, and again she found it hard to believe that the face she was seeing was not that of a human.

The absurdity of the situation was dawning on her. Never had she held a conversation this long with a ghost, but then again, never had a ghost gone this long without trying to destroy her. She figured it was ancient, confident in its power. Perhaps it was bored, opting to instead indulge in the intellectual complexity of a strange human such as herself. Maddie Fenton would have been beyond herself in attempting to dissect Phantom's behavior, as he—it—was rapidly defying many theories Sam had learnt in her studies.

Sam took a calming breath and discharged her ectogun. She brought it to her chest, using her thumb in attempt to rub out a scuff that ran along the length of the barrel. She looked up to see Phantom's curious gaze, one eyebrow higher than the other as it watched her, seemingly fascinated.

There were many nights that Sam spent accompanied by her indecision. She relished the battle of foe to foe, romanced by the idea of shaping the world by her own hands. To reclaim what the enemy had taken; to avenge the lives that had been lost. She had always been an individualist and an activist, wanting nothing more than to change the world for the better. The urge to do so in battle correlated with her desire for adrenalin. She was, in all matters of the phrase, a thrill seeker.

And in all truthfulness, she resented the Compound and its conformity. The biggest difference that had always existed between herself and her fellow Warrior prodigy, Valerie Grey, was all a matter of loyalty. Valerie was loyal to their mentor and the Compound, whilst Sam's loyalty had always been with her ideals and the people she cared about. Her Warrior status just happened to be a result of good aim and a talent with weaponry.

What was she looking for? She had no idea

The realization that she had no answer for the ghost before her utterly derailed her. Much of her life had been spent at the crossroads of her decisions, but she felt the second stupidest decision she had ever made was when she placed the gun into a holster she had for it at her waist, sheathing her weapon completely.

She couldn't believe she was still alive.

Phantom must have deduced her mindset through the backdrop of her emotions. Stepping away from her, it settled into a demeanor that was much less menacing. It again ran its free hand through its snowy locks, cocking its head to the side as it studied her. A pregnant silence filled the air between them.

Uncomfortable under Phantom's gaze, Sam began to absentmindedly rub the wrist where the ghost had grabbed her, surprised by how sore it was.

"I apologize for that," Phantom said, nodding its head in the direction of her hands. "You caught me by surprise earlier. It was not my intent to hurt you."

Again she was brought up short. A ghost was apologizing for hurting her? She hoped the incredulity didn't surface to her face, though she was sure Phantom could sense it. She opted to redirect the conversation instead. "Why are you here?" she asked with slight distrust. Her eyes flickered over to the ectoplasmic energy that was undulating in a sphere over the ghost's hand, currently the only source of light aside from the faint green glow of the moon above them.

"The same reason you are," he—it—replied calmly.

"You've been watching me," she deadpanned. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Phantom said after a pause, verifying her suspicions.

"Why?"

He sighed. "I haven't been watching _you_ exactly, merely cataloguing the goings of my territory. Your actions have always been intriguing, especially in regards to your reputation."

Sam nodded as if what he had said had made sense, though her mind was reeling with confusion. "Why is Amity Park your territory?" she asked, hoping to gather as much information as he was willing to divulge.

"Why not?"

She grit her teeth, annoyed. "Why are you so different from other ghosts?"

At this, Phantom smiled. "What makes you think that what you know about ghosts is all there is to know?" The challenge was evident in his tone, a single eyebrow cocked as he looked at her sideways, obviously enjoying his stance in their conversation. He shifted the orb of light to his other hand in a flash, spinning it so it shimmered hauntingly in the leeching darkness.

Fed up with his evasion of her questions, Sam crossed her arms tightly over her chest and unleashed a vicious glare. She couldn't help but shiver as the frigid wind licked through her clothes and settled into her bones. Finally, she asked, "What do you want with me?"

Phantom suddenly frowned. "Want with you?" he repeated, obviously affronted. "I had no intention of even revealing myself to you. If I wanted you dead, I assure you I had many opportunities to do so in the past. The only reason I am here before you now is because _you_"—he pointed at her accusingly—"made it happen. I must say, Madeline Fenton has really outdone herself with this new invention." He was once again eyeing the goggles at her neck, shaking his head with a light chuckle.

It truly bothered Sam that the names of people she knew and cared about rolled so easily off the ghost's tongue. The fact that he knew names of Residence members at all bothered her, but then again, it had never been kept secret. She resisted the urge to reach into her holster and blast this ghost into oblivion. Her fingers were twitching.

"What are you going to do with me?" Her tone was ice cold as she asked a rephrased version of her previous question. Her shivers were growing in their intensity and it required nearly all of her self-control to quell them.

Phantom merely rolled his eyes. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to go back to where it is I go, and I suggest you do the same. You're freezing."

Perturbed by a ghost's concern for her wellbeing, she snapped, "I can take care of myself." But then it dawned on her. He was letting her go? She must have heard him wrong.

Phantom's gaze darkened slightly, green eyes dancing in mirth. He approached her, closing the distance between them in three long strides. Towering over her he leaned in and whispered, "Goodnight, Sammy."

And then everything went dark.

Three things struck Sam in the moment that the green, flickering light of the ghost's energy disappeared.

Number one: she was still alive.

Number two: she was alone.

Number three: Phantom had let her live.

* * *

_End of part I _

* * *

_A/N: Finally. The hardest part of writing a story for me has always been trying to get past the beginning. I can honestly say that Phantom letting Sam live will lead into the true theme of the story. I hope this chapter did well in integrating Sam's rebellious nature, as well as her individualism. Also, I hope I did well in explaining why Sam wanted to be a Warrior in the first place-she's not bloodthirsty, merely compassionate for a cause. The relevance of the cause has yet to be seen. And I would like to point out that not everything is as it seems!_

_Any pointers? Anything specific you guys would like to see happen in this story? Still waiting for some good ideas!_

_Oh, and did anyone notice the little...change regarding Phantom towards the end of the chapter? (Remember, this may not be first person point of view, but it does follow closely on Sam's perspective). Cookies for you if you find it!_

_-Roar_


	7. Dialouge

_**PART II**_

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Seven:**

_**Dialogue **_

It was the stricken look on Sam's face that sent Tucker running to her. She had seen it herself in the mirror that morning as she'd readied herself: violet eyes glassy, her face an ashen white. Unable to find her brush, she'd simply pulled her shoulder-length hair into a messy tail at the back of her head. She also hadn't slept a wink since her fateful encounter with the infamous Phantom that night. As soon as the hour reached an acceptable point, she'd dashed out of her apartment, ignoring her mother's side remarks about her appearance. She needed to find Tucker.

Upon reaching the cafeteria, she'd seen him instantly. He'd been grimacing at the meager amount of food on his plate, making his away over to the table he and Sam had recognized as theirs—the one at the very back corner of the cafeteria. He'd looked up and noticed her, a smile barely touching his lips before a frown suddenly set in. He furrowed his brows in worry, abandoning his plate at the table and made a beeline across the room to meet her.

"Sam!" he exclaimed as he reached her. He grabbed her shoulders roughly, effectively and abruptly stilling her. "What _happened _to you? Are you alright?" His voice had risen, panic evident as he evaluated her.

Unable to formulate an intelligible response, Sam merely shook her head rapidly. Really, what could she say? How does one begin to describe the events that had transpired when she herself could barely understand it? The words evaded her completely. "I met him, Tucker."

"Who?" he asked, clearly confused. People around them began to stare, curious as to what had overcome the Warrior girl and her Inventor friend. Whispers surrounded them. Tucker looked around briefly, slightly annoyed, before he leaned in closer, his lips almost at her ear. In a lower voice he asked her, "_Who_, Sam? Who did you meet?"

Sam ducked her chin to her chest, shaking her head. She struggled again to find the words. "The goggles, Tucker. They work. And I met him. I met _him_."

Tucker's grip on her shoulders tightened into iron fists, twisting the fabric of her shirt. "Sam, _what _are you _talking about_?"

"Phantom. I met Phantom. Last night. I—went out. And I met him. He's here—in Amity."

Tucker's eyes had widened and his jaw had dropped. Suddenly he was dragging her towards the exit of the cafeteria, pulling her roughly along the blank corridors of the Compound. "We need to find the Fentons immediately," he shouted at her.

Once the pair reached the lab, Tucker threw the doors open and barged in furiously. Even though it was Sunday, the day that was dignified as the supposed "day of rest," the Fentons could still be found diligently working away in their lab. And today had been no exception. Once the doors had swung open, Maddie Fenton, startled, looked up immediately from the wires she had been soldering with Jack hovering over her shoulder. It had taken the briefest of moments for her to evaluate the expressions on their faces before she was barreling towards them, her maternal instincts hitting overdrive.

"What's wrong?" she asked seriously, pulling out chairs and nearly forcing them to sit. Jack joined them, dark brows set in worry. Seeing Sam's face, Maddie's hands were at her cheeks, coaxing Sam too look up and meet her eyes. "Sam, dear," she tried again, "can you please tell me what is going on. Are you alright?"

Tucker jumped in for her. "She encountered Phantom last night, Mrs. Fenton. She's an idiot." He was scowling, utterly furious. "Went and used those goggles last night. Guess they work, huh, Sam?"

Sam was shaking her head despite Maddie's grip. Shame settled heavily on her shoulders as Maddie's expression hardened at Tucker's words.

"Sam," she said. "Is this true?"

"Yes." She looked away from Maddie's scrutiny, staring instead at her shoes.

Tucker's voice rose again. "She's lucky to be freaking alive!"

"Tucker," Maddie scolded, just as Jack had suddenly grabbed the nearest weapon and charged it to life. "Jack," she amended, just as irritable. She turned to glare at her husband.

Jack's eyebrows rose in confusion. "What? Let's waste that disgusting ecto-spook." He raised the weapon, imitating an overzealous battle stance with his face scrunched in anger. "Nobody touches our Sammy and gets away with it, even if it is that molecular failure, Phantom." He swung the weapon in his enthusiasm, causing his finger to slip and accidently depress the trigger, releasing a blast that arced wildly about the lab before fizzling out in a shower of green sparks.

"Jack!" Maddie exclaimed in horror. "Put that thing away!"

The room erupted into a chaos of noise and flashes of light as the lab reacted to the ectoplasmic charge of the weapon, thus activating the lab's safety devices. They blared to life, drowning out Maddie's frustrated curses at her husband. Jack struggled to reach the cancel switch on the wall before him, but tripped over one of the lab chairs in his path and fell unceremoniously to the floor. The weapon he held fell from his hands as well, clattering across the linoleum, but not before releasing yet another powerful blast of light.

The chaos ended when a fist suddenly slammed against the override switch, causing the room to fall into a heavy silence. Jazz Fenton stood with her sea-green eyes wide, taking in the situation before her. "What is going on here?" she shouted at them, utterly incredulous. She stormed over to her father and helped him to his feet, then reached for the large ectoblaster that had started it all, angrily switching off the power and reactivating the safety. Finally, she approached Sam and Maddie, her gaze flitting between the two of them in concern. "Is everything okay? What happened?"

Sam found herself swallowing as everyone's eyes were suddenly focused on her. She turned, letting her eyes meet Jazz's, and understanding instantaneously flashed between them. Jazz nodded once, imperceptibly, before she turned to her parents.

"Mom, dad," she said, addressing them in voice that one would usually address a child with. "I don't know what's going on here, but you're obviously making Sam uncomfortable. How about we all pull out some chairs and talk about this as respectful and rational adults."

Jazz took the lead, redirecting everyone so they were all comfortably sitting adjacent to each other, a shape that was near ovular. Her composure seemed to imprint itself onto her parents as they, too, visibly relaxed, despite the anxiety that still lingered like a storm cloud over the impending conversation.

When everyone was seated, Jazz also took her seat next to Sam. With one leg crossed over the other, she took a moment to unleash her steady gaze on each person in their circle, meeting their eyes briefly. Finally, with a silence that saturated the air like poison, she took a deep, calming breath.

Jazzmyn Fenton had always been a sort of enigma. Schooled under her parents and then furthering her education in the psychological sciences, she was every bit the Fenton brain as her parents were. With long, auburn hair that fell to her waist and the seaside eyes she shared with her mother, she was the epitome of elegance. Of serenity. She was beautiful, a feat that was not hindered by the deep, garish scar tissue that distorted the left side of her face and neck. The scars merely served as reminder of her survival, that she was the only living Fenton child, and thus the pride and joy of her mother and father.

The look in her eyes that fluctuated between each member of their party was a look that belonged someone much older that her years of twenty-two. Having witnessed the death of her twin siblings as a child, she'd promptly planted her roots in psychology, determined to understand the demons of her memories and help others overcome theirs as well. It was for this reason that Sam was so well acquainted with her, as she'd spent much of her youth in Jazz's company.

The two girls shared another empathizing look, Jazz taking note of Sam's small smile of gratitude. The slightest of smiles tugged at the corners of the older girl's mouth before she again set her attention on the group before her.

"Now," she said in a voice as calm as her demeanor. "Can someone please tell me—_calmly"—_she snapped as Tucker, still visibly furious, stood up abruptly to interrupt her—"what happened?" Her gaze was cool and emotionless on him until he sat back down with a huff. If Jazz was triumphant about their battle wills, she didn't show it.

Sam did her best to imitate Jazz's composure, drawing herself together in order to hold her head high. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath as Jazz had moments before.

When she spoke she stared at her shoes. "Last night I left the Compound. I wanted to try out the goggles Mrs. Fenton gave me…I now know why there are no ghosts in the central part of the city…" It had only been hours since the fateful encounter, though her memories seemed distant—almost otherworldly in essence, and dreamlike. Her hand lightly touched her sore forearm where he'd grabbed her, eyes slipping higher to trace the dark bruises that wrapped vicelike around her arm.

Finally, she said, "Amity has been claimed by Phantom."

The only indication of Jazz's surprise at Sam's words was an abrupt arch of her eyebrows, eyes slightly widening as she processed the information. She considered it momentarily, before nodding once. She was about to speak when her mother abruptly interrupted her.

"Did it hurt you, honey?" Maddie asked, worry pinching her brows together. She leaned forward in her chair, wanting to take the Warrior girl in her arms as she would her own daughter. Ghosts were dangerous creatures, after all.

Sam shook her head. "The goggles rendered his existence perfectly. It startled him though and he challenged me. I fired a shot at him but it didn't do anything—I don't even think he was affected by it!"

Maddie frowned at this, glancing over her shoulder to her husband who was glaring at the floor. She bit her lip in thought. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Our weapons are only equipped to handle ghosts that range at about four or five on the ecto-scale. Phantom was well into the seven range the last time we got a reading on it."

"Wasn't that the only time Phantom was ever seen?" Tucker questioned. "Or at least one of the few?"

Maddie nodded. "Phantom is a very recent addition to our archives. Very allusive, usually nondestructive, but extremely powerful. The only documented sighting in our world was during the whole Guys in White fiasco. And even then we're still not sure what exactly happened. Aside from that, the only information we have on it are rumors our subjects have dispelled."

Sam shuddered at Maddie's casual use of the word "subjects." Not many ghosts that invaded the human world retained the ability to verbally communicate on a level humans could understand. Most were odd reincarnations of human emotion, ravaging and attacking anything still living, lusting for the kill. There were a few, however, with cores that were much different and stronger than the aggressive wisps, ones that were able to communicate. Some had even been able to rationalize.

It was these ghosts that Maddie based her studies on. After their capture they would begin to speak, begging mercilessly to be set free. Many spoke of terror in their world, of more death and repression, and wanting to escape. But in the end, no ghosts could be trusted, and after their experimentation was over their cores were harvested and used for the ecto-devices Jack developed. The ghosts that were harvested usually ranged within the class three through five areas, which is why most ectoplasmic-based weapons were only effective on ghosts under or around the same level.

Sam tried not to shudder under the implications, but couldn't help herself. She hated ghosts—they all did—but there was something utterly _wrong _about having to listen to a creature, even if it was a ghost, beg for its life mingled within its cries of pain and suffering. She couldn't help but wonder why a ghost would beg for life if it was already dead in the first place. Ghosts couldn't feel pain, as they did not possess nervous systems, musculature, or any of the anatomical requirements to do so. At least that's when she'd always been told.

Lost in her thoughts, Sam didn't notice when Maddie had asked her another question. It was when all eyes were on her and Tucker's exasperated exclamation of "Sam!" that startled her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Maddie's worried expression.

"Sam, dear, are you alright?" she asked. "I asked what happened to you out there. How did you escape Phantom? Did it attack you?"

Sam released a breath of air that lingered heavy in her lungs. "He did at first—"

"That's it, I've had!" Jack interjected loudly, jumping from his seat. "It's time we take the fight to the enemy! No use lying around like smoked sausages! I—"

"Dad! Would you shut the hell up and let Sam _talk_!" Jazz snapped, the first breach of her professionalism. Jack fell to his seat, grumbling obscenities, with heavy arms that folded themselves across his chest. After he was seated, Jazz sniffed and returned her gaze expectantly to Sam.

It was then that Sam was finally able to relate to them what truly happened between her and Phantom. As she spoke, she would often notice the widening of eyes and the startled gasp. Intelligible exclamations and murmurs that she couldn't quite catch. She told them the gist of it, an unemotional rendering of the events that transpired. What she skipped over was the eerie glint of the ghost's eyes, the compassion, the intense curiosity that existed between the pair as they regarded each other. They were things she knew she should say, but had no idea how to go about saying them. Things that went against her morals as a Warrior and everything she stood for. They were forbidden truths they were meant to stay hidden.

So she buried them.

Finishing her tale, however, was met with absolute silence. Even Jazz's composure had waned slightly, the surprise dominating her face.

Maddie was rapidly shaking her head. "It let you go?" Her incredulity pitched her voice an octave higher than usual. She rose from her chair, walking—nearly sprinting—to her research desk, booting up files. She entered the archives, pulling up Phantom's file. The file was merely a paragraph long, sparse in its detail. There were a few lines of recorded sightings since the incident, though they were random and nonspecific. "It must have some sort of ulterior motive. There must be _something_ it has to gain from not killing you. As glad as I am you're alive dear, but I just don't _understand it._" She was nearly hysterical as she read and reread the information before her.

Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The best way to unravel a Fenton was to disprove on of their genius theories.

"Who is Phantom, anyway?" Tucker suddenly asked.

Looking at the screen, Maddie said, "It says here that four years ago it was involved in a human and ghost skirmish at the old Guys in White facility in Wisconsin. Four operatives were killed, and the other ghosts involved escaped. Supposedly, Phantom was intent on removing captured specimens from their experimentation facility. It doesn't specify which ghosts, nor are there any details involving them. I suspect they were part of the same clan." Her eyes squinted as she focused on the numbers. "From what I can tell about Phantom's ectosignature reading, it was in the high sevens in terms of class at the time. Almost an eight."

Tucker's face was pinched in confusion. "The Guys in White? Who are they, anyway?"

"Some top secret ghost research organization that had been funded by the government at the time," Maddie said. "Supposedly disbanded after that. This is the last recorded documentation in their records."

Tucker scoffed. "What I don't understand is if there were no survivors, how was it even recorded in the first place?" Pushing the glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, his eyes met briefly met Sam's before looking away again to Maddie. "How is that even possible?"

Frowning, Maddie once again reread the information. It was when she glanced at the article's author that she gasped.

"What is it, mom?" Jazz asked, just as Tucker jumped up to join Maddie, reading the screen over her shoulder. Suddenly, he was gasping as well.

Sam shared a confused look with Jazz, as she too stood intent on seeing what all the commotion was about. She was halted, however, as her eyes met Tucker's steely gaze. His expression was grim.

"What?" Sam asked, slightly perturbed. Perhaps even a little nervous.

"Sam," Tucker began, "the only recorded survivor, the author of the article—is Vlad Masters."

**XXX**

The proceeding afternoon found Tucker walking Sam quietly to the cafeteria. Having missed breakfast, the pair was famished. The walk had been quiet and strained, each studiously avoiding the other. They walked through the line in the cafeteria, awaiting their portions in silence. It was when they were finally sitting at their familiar seats, trays of food before them, that Tucker finally broke the silence.

"I know you don't want to talk about this, Sam," he said, "but I think we should."

"I know," she replied quietly, nibbling at her salad. She hadn't said much earlier either, for once grateful for the Fentons' exuberance and lack of attention spans. They'd barely allowed her to speak, intent on unraveling the mysteries of "ghost scum everywhere." Jazz wouldn't press her until Sam was willing to consult her on the matter. Tucker, however, was a completely different story.

She knew he was pissed at her. She could feel his indecision rolling off of him, filling his eyes when he glared at her. He was absolutely livid. Her head was hung with shame, and she refused to meet his gaze.

"I thought you stopped going out there." His tone was harsh, but she knew she deserved it.

Sam merely shrugged. "I needed to breath."

"Needed to—" He was nearly growling now. "Sam. What the _hell_ has gotten in to you? Do you have a fucking death wish?"

Sam cringed at his words, looking up to glare at him. "No!" she cried defensively.

He took a breath to calm himself, closing his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts. "I love you like a sister, Sam. And I care about you. But if you keep this up, I'm going to have no choice but to report you to Grey."

Sam gasped, air hissing through her teeth as she seethed. Damon Grey. Leader of the Resistance. Father of Valerie Grey. If she was to be reported for insubordination, she would be pulled from her apprenticeship, forced to live the rest of her life on the sidelines and underground. It would be the end of her freedom.

"You wouldn't." Sam's tone was dangerous, betrayal dancing in her eyes. How dare he? He had no right to threaten her!

Tucker's expression softened slightly as he took her hand. She resisted the urge to yank it away from him. "I'm sorry, Sam. But I just don't want to see you wind up dead. You are _very _lucky Phantom didn't kill you last night. You're my best friend, and I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you. Someday we _will _be able to leave this place, but you just have to be patient. Don't go looking for trouble. You will be able to go Out with the rest of the Warriors on their next mission. Just hold out till then."

Not really believing herself, Sam nodded once, holding his gaze to reassure him. No, she said with her eyes as she always did, I will never do it again—I promise.

That seemed to placate him as he was suddenly smiling at her. "After we eat how about a trip to arcade, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows. When he spoke, he filled his voice with a deep bravado. "It's time for goth girl to get her ass wooped once more by the almight technogeek!"

Sam nodded with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She returned to her salad, nibbling apprehensively as she mulled through her next line of action.

Perhaps it was time she had a conversation her mentor.

* * *

_A/N: Whew, longest chapter yet. Literally the hardest thing I have ever written: group discussion. Having a point where five characters are involved in a conversation is harder than I ever expected. I hope it came out okay. Wrote down some of the story's history so it was easier for me to reference, rather than doing it all by memory. Helped _immensely. _lol_

_I just want to take a moment to say how utterly _astounded _I am by the reaction to the last chapter. Never in my wildist dreams did I expect this to be a story people would enjoy as much as it is. I by no means write for the recognition, as I just love writing it purely to entertain myself, but I am stunned by everyone's input so far. You guys are all amazing. I only wish I could respond to all of you (yes I'm pointing right at you, anonymous people out there lol). In a way, it's actually a little intimidating because after ever chapter I post, I feel as if the preverbal shoes are getting bigger to fill, if you know what I mean. But seriously, from the depth of my heart, thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favorite this story. I am forever grateful to all of you!_

_So, any thoughts? Suggestions? Theories? I LOVE the input I've been getting. Many of you guys are pretty perceptive and it's rather awesome. So, tell me, what's gonna happen next? What would you LIKE to see happen next._

_-Roar_


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